


Azure

by lamagicienne



Series: Shades of Blue [2]
Category: Olympics RPF, Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rivalry, Slow Build, Unrequited, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamagicienne/pseuds/lamagicienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Michael he’s known for years would never have shown emotions like this while getting ready for a race; he would never have let loose like this. That Michael constantly rubbed him the wrong way, but at least Tyler knew what to expect of him. </p>
<p>Shades of Blue series, part II (Tyler Clary/Michael Phelps, Ryan Lochte/Michael Phelps)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of a series. To better understand what's going on, you should read "Ultramarine" first.

I

Disciplining one’s mind is essential to swimming. Tyler knew that long before he ever met Michael Phelps.

During the days that follow their clash, Tyler realizes that the nature versus nurture debate he’s been having with himself on how Michael became what he is without putting too much effort into it  maybe neglects another powerful aspect. In retrospect, he doesn’t understand how he could overlook it and yet, it’s the peculiar situation he finds himself in that brings it to his mind.  

What always gave Michael _the_ decisive edge in actual competition well might have been his unique ability to concentrate under pressure. That is a double-edged sword, of course: once he’s in that zone, it’s not easy to pull him out of his own head again. One or two times, Tyler has actually witnessed Bob Bowman having to physically shake his prodigy from one of his self-induced trances.

But even though he and most other swimmers can’t hope to ever become as good at shutting the world out as their most famous representative, Tyler has also developed effective techniques to curb unruly thoughts and emotional turbulences.

This comes in handy now that he has to push everything that happened with and because of Michael out of his mind and focus on what lies ahead. Taper makes this a bit harder than it should be, but he manages eventually.

The knowledge that Michael is doing exactly the same – having to put in less effort, probably – helps somewhat. After Knoxville, everything becomes a blur anyway, accelerating and slowing down at the same time. They are whisked away to France to acclimatize themselves and get used to the new time zone. The air is clean and fresh in Vichy, the moral is excellent, most of his teammates are talking to Tyler again…

Outside of the US, as he soon discovers, Tyler is largely known as the athlete who talked shit about Michael Phelps. Newspapers all around the globe have picked up on the supposed feud between the greatest Olympian of all times and his teammate, the loudmouthed newbie. Tyler meanwhile feels he deserves a pat on the shoulder for managing to steer clear of Michael’s way as efficiently as he did.

Neither of them profited from their respective fits of temper. Nothing is resolved, the air isn’t anywhere near cleared – but that cannot be helped. It would be plain stupid to give it another try, even Jon admits that, and frankly, right now there’s nothing Tyler feels less inclined to do than speak to Michael ever again. The fact that they never had a lot to say to each other to begin with makes it easier to pretend that everything’s okay.

Which is bullshit – of course, they’re not okay.

Tyler did as everyone agreed on, told the media about how he apologized to Michael in person and that there are no hard feelings between them. As for Michael, he did what he could during his own press conference to back up Tyler’s sugarcoated version of events without actually saying that he’s forgiven.  

In the meantime, Speedo found out that they could use the “little animosity” between them as an advertisement gag. So Michael gets to chuck a toy boat over his head that he oh so subtly named “Run over Tyler”. Interesting as the largely publicized Phelps-Lochte-bromance may be, feuds are also quite entertaining. Whatever.

It doesn’t matter anymore, Tyler tells himself. One more Olympics and Michael will be gone – everyone will be rid of him. As for Tyler, he will also be bereft of the very last opportunity to beat Michael in competition. And this has been a dream of his ever since he was nineteen, too. Now it’s never going to be fulfilled.  

Others get to do it, though.

Ryan. A big-eyed kid from South Africa. The French 400 freestyle relay team.

Michael not even making the podium in the very race he gave Tyler so much shit about is satisfying to say the least. Tyler keeps that strictly to himself, of course, doesn’t even join the choir of disturbed voices taken aback by this unusual result. Part of his self-induced silence is due to everybody impressing the need on him to keep it this time – no matter who wins what in London (or doesn’t).

The other reason may be rooted in something Tyler can’t really put a finger on, something that becomes more and more evident as the Games proceed and shakes several of Tyler’s convictions regarding his most famous teammate to their very foundations.

It’s the morning after the night before, the night of the 400 IM, but looking at Michael and Ryan at breakfast, you’d never guess so.  They’re sitting as close together as they always do, listening to something Jones is telling them. Adrian is in on it, too, so that would make tonight’s relay team complete.

And then, Tyler sees Ryan lean in and say something that has Michael lightly thrown back his head and laugh.  

He’s actually laughing as if he hasn’t got a care in the world.

Tyler can’t believe it. The Michael he’s known for years would never have shown emotions like this while getting ready for a race; he would never have let loose like this. That Michael constantly rubbed him the wrong way, but at least Tyler knew what to expect of him. This new Michael though…

The new Michael socializes with his fellow swimmers, even the ones who beat him. He is friendly towards Yannick Agnel, who spoilt the 400 free relay for him, he even has a few nice words for Paul Biedermann whom he snubbed ever since the 200 free in Rome. He’s exchanging smiles and handshakes and Lil’ Wayne lyrics with Ryan as usual.

And he’s unbelievably gracious towards Chad LeClos after the 200 fly final.

Even after the cameras have turned elsewhere, Tyler spots them talking to each other several times over the next few days.  LeClos seems like a nice enough kid, completely star-struck by his hero talking to him, but each time Tyler sees them together, it gives him a slightly queasy feeling.

During their time together in Ann Arbor, Tyler always got the impression that Michael kept away from him because they were in a way alike – specializing in the same stroke, in the same events. For years, Tyler was convinced of being perceived as a threat by Michael whether the latter admitted it or not and that this was the secret root of all their discrepancies.

LeClos actually beating Michael and in return being treated with nothing but respect and friendliness, renders that age-old argument invalid. 

( _Then what was the reason,_ a distraught whisper resounds in the back of his mind.)

Four years ago, Michael was a machine. A human dolphin. A young water-god that likewise fascinated and intimidated people. This time around, though –

_I’ve been a human being my whole life,_ he says.

And it draws everybody in. What Michael didn’t manage with his eight gold medals, he achieves by winning a silver one or two. He reaches out to people – for the first time maybe since he stepped on the scene at fifteen – and people are responding to him. It’s… Tyler isn’t sure exactly what it means, but it’s breathtaking to watch.

Tyler is – understandably perhaps – the one person Michael exempts from his demonstration of universal goodwill. He almost expects to be addressed at some point, too, to be shown some kind of gesture of forgiveness aimed at the hundreds of cameras they’re surrounded by all the time. But nothing of the sort happens.

Michael’s gone back to looking through him, very much like he used to do before Omaha.

Cavic comes over the night after the 200 back to congratulate Tyler and promptly takes the opportunity to make a few inquiries about what’s going on with him and Phelps. With his team completely avoiding the topic, it’s the first time in weeks that somebody asks Tyler about his recently turbulent relationship with Michael.

He shrugs. “Nothing much. Talked when I shouldn’t have, apologized, everything’s cool again.”

“What’s again supposed to mean?”

Tyler cringes. Cavic knows them both pretty well, of course. The two of them have been training together on and off for several years after Cavic’s coach became the CEO of Club Wolverine just before the Beijing Games when Bowman returned to Baltimore. Cavic has his own largely unpleasant history with Michael, so he can probably sympathize with Tyler and what he said in a lot of ways.  

“You really can be a crybaby.”

Or not.

“Crapping on the greatest swimmer of all times just because he’s a natural and you’re not.”

“Right,” Tyler sneers, his temper spiked. “How could I forget that you’re the only one who gets to do that?”

Milorad laughs. “Yeah, some good it did me.”

Actually, it _did_ do him some good: he gained his own kind of immortality during the Beijing Games and later cemented it in Rome. He will forever be remembered as the guy who angered Phelps so much that he actually felt the need to rub a victory in.

He’s a fellow Wolverine, a fellow Californian, but nevertheless, Cavic is starting for another country. Keeping that in mind, Tyler is much more reserved and politically correct about the whole thing than he might have been if this were someone from his home crowd. It’s impossible for Team USA to wash their dirty laundry in public like this. Or at least, Tyler’s not going to make that mistake twice.  

Predictably, Milorad won’t give it a rest that easily. “I’m kind of surprised to see you here, to be honest. After a stunt like that I’d expected dear Michael would have them throw you off the team.”

“What are you talking about? He doesn’t have that kind of power – and I sure hope, nobody else does.”

“Doesn’t he? If Phelps was powerful enough to make FINA ban high-tech suits, that should give you an idea of what he’s capable of.”

This touches uncomfortably on something Tyler has been spending some time thinking about as well: that there may be aftershocks of his speaking his mind at the most inconvenient of times. Michael could easily use his influence with Speedo to make them drop Tyler. Maybe Cavic is right and the federation even would have listened to Michael and Bowman if they’d pressured for Tyler to be banned from competing in London.

Which leads to the question: if he could have, then why didn’t he do it? He’s been known for carrying grudges.  

Cavic is still watching him closely from his deep-set eyes. “You’ve got one more Olympics ahead of you, don’t you? Retired or not, he’s the absolutely last person on this earth you should make an enemy of, you know.”

“It’s a few years too late for that, isn’t it?” Tyler asks before he can stop himself.

Cavic smiles. “Is it? How come you two hate each other so much anyway? I’ve often asked myself that.”

Tyler just snorts. It wasn’t Ryan whom he wanted to beat here in London first and foremost, of course not. His fingers reflexively close around his Olympic gold medal and loosen up again. It’s cool to the front, warm where it touched his upper body. His first international title. A title that Michael never won.

And yet... in a completely ridiculous way it's typical that on the night of Tyler's greatest triumph somebody comes along and starts speaking of Michael.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re leading such an interesting life, Michael. I’m not sure you realize just how interesting it is.”

II

It's nearing 3 a.m. and Michael is drifting off, wrapped in Megan’s lily-and-vanilla scent. One of them has to kill the light soon, it occurs to him, but he can’t bring himself to move right now.

“Wow, I’m tired,” he hears her murmur softly as if reading his thoughts.

“Tired?” he snorts. “What would _you_ be tired of?”

Megan giggles, her breath breaking against his throat. “Um, jetlag and stuff? Tracking you down among all those people?”

“Did you have to wait a long time?”

She shrugs in his embrace. “Was worth it. I’ve never seen an Olympic Village up close, so… you know, all these well-toned athletes passing by –“ She gasps when he brings a hand to the naked skin of her waist and pinches her lightly.

“Anyone you want to tell me about?”

“Totally not.” The hand she tries to keep him off with is tiny compared to his own. She has to make use of her fingernails eventually.

“Ouch.” He’s letting go of her with a pained yelp. Those are sharp.

“Serves you right! Manhandling women – is that how you spend your time when I’m not around?” She leans in to kiss him then withdraws before he can pull her closer as if a thought suddenly entered her mind. “By the way, who was the redhead gawking at us?”

“Redhead?” Michael stops what he’s doing and automatically scans his over-tired brain for any red-haired females who might have been trying to throw themselves at him today.

Megan shrugs slightly. “Or ginger, more like it. The guy who hung around in the lobby when I was waiting for you. He was in one of those awful grey raincoats, so he’s one of you, isn’t he? A swimmer?”

A couple of seconds pass while Michael tries to remember who of his colleagues might have been present when he was picking up Megan earlier tonight. It’s not like he was paying a lot of attention to the surroundings, but –

“Oh.” He frowns. “That was Clary.” Who is not actually a redhead Michael muses, but fits the Celtic scheme somewhat, with his freckles and light-blue eyes.

Megan’s awake now. “ _The_ Tyler Clary? Shit, I actually said hi to him…”

Michael laughs and tugs her closer. “And he was gawking?”

“Yup. At you, not at me – can you believe it?” she jokes.

“Yeah, what can I say? He always was a weirdo.”

“What’d you do to him anyway?”

He finally opens his eyes. Hers are on him – turquoise crescents framed by dark lashes. Not for the first time he thinks how gorgeous she is like this: hair disheveled, not an ounce of make-up on her face, clad in an old t-shirt of his. She really doesn’t need all the extra-equipment, but no woman he’s ever known was susceptible to that particular concept.

“I listened to that interview online,” she adds.  

Michael shifts a bit, directing his gaze towards the ceiling. Since Knoxville, he’s hardly ever thought of Tyler’s trash talking, ignoring the guy completely. Which isn’t such a huge achievement – Olympic swimming events make for an excellent distraction. The 200 back shocked him somewhat. Michael is used to thinking of Clary as somehow ineligible to the titles which Michael and Ryan used divide between the two of them. And now, for the first time ever, Clary managed to beat one of them in actual competition.

Although he’s not exactly miserable about winning gold in the 200 IM, Michael feels bad for Ryan that things didn’t turn out the way he wished them to. Those were supposed to be _his_ Games. Things between them are only all right, because it’s _Ryan_ who didn’t get to fulfill his dream. Had the same thing happened in Beijing with their places swapped, Michael just knows this would have put a severe strain to their friendship, to put it mildly.    

“He was talking about Michigan, right? When he said you weren’t training as hard as he was –“ Megan stays on track, finding the Clary topic oddly fascinating. “Did something happen there?”

“No.” Michael runs a hand over his face. “I mean, he’s been frustrated with me for as long as I can remember. You know, in any other decade, Clary would probably have been the US top swimmer. It’s just his tough luck that he has Ryan and me to compete with.”

Michael stops himself there. He could say more, but he’s not going to. She’s his girlfriend, yes, but she’s an _outsider_ to swimming. It’s not that he feels a need to be somehow protective of Tyler’s sensitivities, not even in a completely objective we’re-teammates-after-all way. Still, Michael’s reluctant to clue Megan in on too many details about other swimmers.  

“I’m not sure it’s about that,” Megan’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “He sounds like he really spent a lot of time thinking about you and why you do what you do…”

“No idea. If he’s got nothing better to do –“   

Megan’s eyebrows rise ever so slightly. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe – he has some kind of repressed crush on you?”

As if on cue, details of that really weird turn this one lunch conversation with the guys in Knoxville took come back to him. Michael just shakes his head. “You’re not the first to suggest that.”

And it sounds just as crazy when it comes from her. If someone were to take a pick from the men’s swimming team, then Ryan would be the obvious choice. Or Nathan. Or Ricky. Hell, even Clary’s features are more even than Michael’s own.

“We must be right then.” There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes, effectively lighting the mood. “I have it on good authority that you’re one to inspire crushes.”

“Am I now?” He gives her a wry smile.

“M-hm. There’s this one girl, I keep forgetting her name… If you asked her to drop everything and fly to the other end of the world to meet you, she’d do it like in a heartbeat.”   

“I’d make it up to her.”

“You better…”

Her breath is sweet from the drinks they had earlier tonight. She’s moving against him, all slender curves and silky hair. Michael buries a hand in the golden strands. “Maybe we should try and catch some sleep or I don’t know how we’ll look in those pictures tomorrow.”

She sighs against his chest. “Can’t you, like, report in sick or something?”

“It’s a _Speedo_ event,” he emphasizes. “And you got yourself a dress especially, didn’t you?”

She smiles down on him, pearly white teeth shining in the half-light of the room. “You want to see it?”

Michael can’t exactly say that he’s _dying_ to, but he’ll indulge her since she’s so obviously excited about it. The moment she gets up from the bed, though, his thoughts start wandering without him being able to do anything against it. Some ideas are just… sticky.

_What’d you do to him anyway?_

Of all the people close to him, Megan is the first to suggest that Michael might be somehow responsible for Clary’s lapse. Or at least she seems to believe that he should be able to come up with an explanation.

Why complicate matters, Michael thinks. They never hit it off in Ann Arbor and things just spiraled downwards from there on. So what, with some people you get along, with some you don’t.

(There _is_ a deeper reason, of course, why he dismissed Tyler almost on first sight. It’s lurking somewhere in the very back of Michael’s mind, reminding him of its presence every now and then. But that is not something he wants to spend time thinking about right now.)

“Do you like it?”

He looks up. If water were to be transformed into cloth, it would probably look just like this.

It goes over Michael’s head how a fucker like Clary manages to occupy his thoughts now of all times, when he can’t even pay proper attention to his girlfriend who just flew several thousand miles to be with him.

_Isn’t this what you wanted?_

He smiles. “Very.” 

_For her to come and be with you?_

It’s not her, it’s him, that much is for sure. They haven’t seen each other in weeks. The fact that he wishes to be alone just now – something is not quite right with him, something important. Well, what else is new? But those are 3 a.m. thoughts, Michael decides – the time of the night when everything you can think of immediately turns into a horror scenario.

Megan takes a few graceful steps towards the bed, the silky fabric clinging to her body. “Really?” She winks at him. “I don’t want to put you to shame, you know.”

“You couldn’t.” It’s an act. She knows this will look amazing on her.

“Are they all going to be there? The whole swim team?”

“No, not all of them, probably. Allie. Missy. Cullen. Clary, I suppose.” He grimaces. “Nathan. And Ryan.”   

(Whom he introduced her to, earlier tonight. And later, when Megan excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, they found themselves alone with each other. Considering how hyper they’ve been these last days, sharing their thoughts almost non-stop, even during medal ceremonies, the conversation lacked a bit in flow.   

“So, this has been going on for a few months?”

“Since March. She lives in California, so we didn’t see each other that much.”

“Made it easier to keep it a secret, I guess.”

Michael’s startled. “Well… not from _you.”_

“That’s okay, you know.”

“I kinda wanted to tell you before, but somehow it never – I didn’t expect it to even last this long.”

Ryan snorts. “You sure can be a romantic, Mikey. And now you’re expecting it to last?”

“I’ve no idea. It feels right.”

“Good. That’s good, if it feels right.”) 

Megan doesn’t flinch, but there’s something there when he mentions Ryan. It’s not displeasure, not exactly. More like wariness. It reminds him of what he noticed earlier tonight already, when they were out for drinks: how her gaze would occasionally wander back and forth between him and Ryan. Observing. Like she's caught on to something she cannot quite believe.

But when she speaks now, it’s almost with a hint of resignation that seems to belie the small laugh the words come out with. As if she wants to ask him something, or tell him something, and doesn’t know how to phrase it, so she skirts around the edges.

“You’re leading such an interesting life, Michael. I’m not sure you realize just how interesting it is.”


	3. Three

III

“You know, I can’t believe you sometimes.”

Even though Tyler can’t see her, he can picture Carol on the other end of the line, six thousand miles away: shaking her head, bright blue eyes, impish smile accompanying her words. He can hear the enthusiasm in his own voice, too. “You should have seen it.” 

“I wish I had. Bet there never was an Olympic Champion who went DJ-ing the night of his win.”

“Hey, there haven’t been Games in London for a while now. The clubs this place has…” He’s at a loss for words. “It kind of made me wish I could’ve stayed longer.”

Her laugh transcends down the phone line. “Listen to you. You’re more excited about this club thing than about your gold medal, that’s just not possible!”

Tyler laughs along. “That’s not true, it’s just… it was an amazing experience. London really was.” He knows she’s just teasing him. As a former swimmer, she can imagine better than most of the people close to him how much this victory means. She’s been supportive of him all the way, ever since they became a couple two years ago.   

“I can’t believe you’re coming home tomorrow,” Carol says with a soft sigh.

“Yeah, me neither. It’s incredible that it’s over.”

He turns his head from where he’s lying on his Village bed towards the nightstand where his gold medal is resting, right next to his flight ticket. His packed bags are stored in front of it. The days after his win in the 200 back are a blur, merging into each other with Tyler still trying to wrap his brain around the idea that he is now an Olympic Champion.

Others are having an even harder time with this, he hasn’t failed to notice. There were tons of people wanting to talk to him or shake his hand, interviews he had to give – he was hardly able to get away to his appointment at a London club. They can hardly believe he did what he did.

It could be offensive, but Tyler just shrugs it off. Tyler knew, once he was here, in London, he would do his utmost to make a mark. He never saw any gain in just making the team as so many other swimmers seemed to be satisfied with in Omaha. He could understand to a degree, still remembering how hard it was four years ago to watch his Club Wolverine teammates compete in Beijing and not being there himself.

Hard work got him this title. His patience, his strength of nerve, his refusal to throw in the towel no matter how invincible Michael and Ryan seemed – they had to pay off sooner or later. 

“You still want to do it, right?” Carol suddenly asks. “I mean, you still want to go back to Michigan – and swim there?”

Tyler just nods before he remembers that she can’t see him. This has been his plan for a long time: to go back to his alma mater for his Master degree and re-join Club Wolverine.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m really in the mood for another four years.”

So after the race is before the race. He said as much to Jon with whom he had a very similar conversation just this afternoon. His old coach seemed hesitantly pleased at his re-kindled enthusiasm for slaving away in Ann Arbor. But he had some additional advice.  

“Don’t forget that there are things in life other than swimming. I can understand you’ve tasted blood now. But I surely don’t have to tell you what a grinding thing it is to prepare for another Olympic Games.”

“You’re not trying to talk me out of it, are you now?”

“I’m just saying you’ve got talents besides swimming, you know that. Michael – he is bound to this. And it’s what he’ll end up returning to sooner or later.”

“You really think he’ll go back to competitive swimming?” Tyler is startled. The idea doesn’t even give him a headache as it probably would have a couple of weeks ago. He just doesn’t believe it. Tyler would be the first to confirm that Michael has never distinguished himself through a variety of interests, on the contrary. It’s hard to imagine that he’ll ever find something to replace swimming, even if he’s fed up with it right now. But judging from how he’s been carrying himself throughout these Olympics, he’s bent on trying anyway. 

“No,” is Jon’s somewhat cryptic answer to that. “I’m sure though, that there’s water in his future. But you’re different, Tyler. There are a lot of things you could do with your life.”

Or do them all at once, as usual, Tyler thinks. He’s used to swimming and studying simultaneously while composing music in between. This time around, he’ll even have a private life besides all that.  

So he smiles when he answers to Carol’s question. “We can start looking at houses as soon as I’m back and have said hi to everybody at home.”

“They’ll want to keep you for a while,” she laughs. “And you’ve earned yourself a vacation, don’t you think?”

“Why put it off any longer? Classes are starting in September. I’d rather not live out of our suitcases when we get to Michigan.” 

They talk for a little while longer until Carol has to get to work – the reason why she’s not here with him, actually. But that’s okay, soon enough they will see each other every day, sharing bed and board in their own home, thanks to Speedo and endorsement deals. That, too, should provide a certain kind of stability, Tyler thinks. 

The last time around, he had only just begun to settle in when things already started to come apart.

_“I’m very sorry about what happened, Tyler.”_

_Tyler nods, his eyes fixed on the street in front of them. It’s early afternoon. They are on their way back to UM campus from Detroit airport where Bob Bowman has been picking him up. He’s been home for a day, skipping classes and practice alike, to attend the funeral of his coach. Kevin had been sick with cancer for over a year and in the end, it all happened very quickly. They’d talked on the phone only a few days before Tyler received that_ other _phone call._

_“Thanks for picking me up, by the way.”_

_“Why, certainly.”_

_Bowman was full of understanding when Tyler described the situation to him and Jon. He can be like this, Tyler’s learnt over the last few months: gentle and considerate. As merciless as he presents himself by the poolside, he has a fine-tuned sense of when to say what. Perhaps he can put himself in Tyler’s shoes – or in Michael’s in a similar situation. Bowman, too, has a close bond with his long-term student after all._

_Tyler turns slightly in his seat as they pass Canton. “I’ve my stuff with me. You can drive me straight to afternoon practice.”_

_Bowman adjusts his glasses, but it’s just as possible that he’s hiding a smile behind the movement of his arm. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about. You know that I have a four-year contract with the university as head coach – and that it expires this summer?”_

_An uncomfortable feeling settles in Tyler’s stomach. He’s not sure he wants to hear about this right now, but he probes into it anyway. “Yeah?”_

_“I’ve decided not to extend it. NBAC has offered me a job as their CEO. We’re returning to Baltimore.”_

_“I understand.” And he does. They’ve always known that Bowman’s priorities lie elsewhere but with Club Wolverine or with being head coach of some university swimming team. He’s Michael’s coach – damn it, his surrogate father – first and foremost and only then everybody else’s._

It’s ridiculous, Tyler thinks four years later, crossing his arms behind his head on an Olympic Village bed, but he’d felt abandoned then. He’d come to associate Ann Arbor and swimming for the University with Bowman. But now Bowman was leaving, returning to Baltimore. And he was taking Michael with him.

At practice the next day, there was talk of Allison joining them. She was about to finish high school so she would be free to go to NBAC and prepare for the Olympic trials before heading to university in the fall. Others got stuck with the same idea: in the mid of the winter, the prospect of leaving behind blizzard-country holds a certain appeal.   

Tyler never joined these conversations, but a few days after his return to campus he sought out Bowman in his tiny office at Canham Natatorium. Straightforward, he asked what Bowman thought about him coming along to Baltimore to continue training with him.

Bowman listened impassively, as if he had expected the request, and finally said: “I just want you to understand – there will be some drama with Michael.”

And this was that.

It’s interesting, Tyler thinks as he gets up from the bed and reaches for his bags, how he's completely forgotten about this episode until now, even though it was so decisive for his whole life. He still can’t be sure what prompted Bowman back then to dismiss him in this vague and yet unmistakable way. Was it because Bowman observed the less than delectable dynamics between them and decided that it would be for the best of one of them stayed where he was? Or did Michael somehow anticipate this and declared to Bowman that he’d rather chew razor blades than go on sharing a training facility with Tyler?

Tyler can’t claim that he thought the idea through back then, it was more a spur of the moment thing. But how would things have turned out if he’d actually accompanied Michael to Baltimore, he wonders. How would the trials in ’08 have gone?

One thing is for certain. They’d have had that argument that finally came about in Knoxville much, much earlier.

There are voices on the corridor, laughter. The others haven’t left for the Speedo party yet. Tyler checks his watch and realizes he’ll be late for his appointment with his parents if he doesn’t leave now. When he opens the door, though, he immediately stops dead in his tracks.

Throughout London, Tyler did his utmost to avoid breathing the same air as Michael. Apart from the final of the 200 fly (for obvious reasons), he’s been successful. They were both staying in the Olympic Village – no way, Tyler was going to miss out on this, Michael or no Michael – but being in different training groups and sitting far apart from each other at meals, they didn’t as much as exchange a word the whole time.   

He attended the opening ceremony of the Games because he knew Michael was going to swim the 400 IM the next day and sure as hell wouldn’t be there. And since he knew Michael was going to attend the Speedo party today, Tyler chose not to show up. But the party hasn’t started yet. Everybody has just been getting ready for it and they’re hanging around in the corridor. Grevers and Chandler are there, Jones is passing through, brushing his teeth. Berens and Lochte have occupied a small coffee table and the appendant chairs.  

Michael is on the phone. “That’s okay,” he says, juggling the phone while slipping on his jacket. “I’ll be there in five.”

Ryan gives Tyler a small nod when he sees him come out of his room. His leniency baffles Tyler sometimes. After the 200 back, he was kind of afraid that there would be bad blood between them. It can’t be denied that these Games didn’t go according to Lochte’s plan – and Tyler certainly had somewhat of a hand in that. But Lochte carries it off well. He’s been just as amicable and laid-back as Tyler’s used to. If he hadn’t known all along what a great sport the guy is, these last days would have brought the message home.

It will forever stay a mystery to Tyler how Lochte can be such a close friend to Michael - who is anything but a great sport and in the past, proved this quite impressively on a number of occasions.

Michael meanwhile has finished his phone call. He turns around to Lochte, unaware of Tyler standing there and their little exchange. “Later,” he calls.

“Have fun,” Ricky grins. Ryan gives him a wave. Tyler watches Michael head for the elevator, how the doors close behind him and he’s gone from view.  

That’s when it hits him.

This is the last time. Like, ever. Michael was such a constant in his life for five years. Hated and envied, yes, seemingly stealing everybody’s thunder at times, but also absorbing any difficulties that came their way.  

For a second, Tyler forgets about the Golden Goggles and all the other Olympic follow-up activities they’re going to attend together. Otherwise, the thought fluttering through his mind like a panicked bird cannot be explained: Will they ever see him again?

“Yeah,” Ryan gives him a half-smile as if reading his thoughts. His voice is subdued as if he doesn’t want any of the others to listen in. “We’re on our own now.”


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumors travel faster than handovers take place in the 4x100 free.

IV

It’s halfway through the Speedo party that Michael remembers that he never got around to congratulating Jon on his pupil becoming an Olympic Champion. He says as much to Megan who flicks her hair back, smiles up at him and nods to indicate that she’s okay on her own for a while. She would be, Michael thinks – she’s way better at mixing with other people than he can ever hope to become. If their roles were reversed, this party would be a trial for him.  

He helps himself to a glass of whatever from the buffet and begins to move through the throng of people in search of the eldest member of the US staff. Moving through turns out to be easier said than done, though, with someone wanting to exchange at least a few words with him at any step. It takes a lot of handshakes and even more small talk to get from one side of the room to another.

The swimming community is small. Apart from the people who actively pursue it or whose kids do, hardly anyone takes notice of the sport – outside of the Olympics, that is. This lack of recognition for swimming may not be satisfying at all times, but there are other advantages of belonging to this small chosen group.

Everyone knows everyone. If you stick with the sport for years, you see the same people at meets and at practice over and over again to the point where you practically can’t avoid making friends for life. There’s a reason why so many swimmers end up married to or involved with other swimmers.

Being part of a close-knit community also has a downside, obviously. With everyone being privy to everyone’s business, everyone usually has an opinion about everything. Rumors travel faster than handovers take place in the 4x100 free. You can acquire a reputation pretty quickly and not just for your skills in the pool. 

So when someone sticks out too much from the swarm (in terms of earnings, recognition, media coverage, sheer number of victories), that’s not always met with ungrudging approval from the rest of the merfolk. And when that someone happens to be a highly introverted person with a rigid focus who shies from too much interaction with his peers, it doesn’t exactly make things easier.

It can cause bad blood.

For the record, Michael is secretly convinced that he did a pretty good job of it. Shyness is a double-edged sword and can easily be misinterpreted as standoffishness, but there have been neither fistfights nor attempts on his life in all the years. He’s made rivals, yes – but never enemies. At least, not as far as he himself was concerned. The Clary incident certainly was an all-time low as far as professional relationships are concerned. Actually, he can walk into a room full of swimmers and if he bothers to say hello, most of them will return the greeting.

And bother he did during these last Olympics, like never before in his career. He made everybody’s jaw drop when he spoke up at team meetings. He’s been getting it all back, too. Brendan has been true to his word: it _was_ the best last meet he could have hoped for – a small wonder with everybody on the swim team giving their darndest to make it that way. Michael can hardly count the hugs and friendly gestures he’s received from his fellow swimmers, and not only from those of his own nation.

Actually, meeting up with Megan yesterday was the first time in many days that he was on his own and not surrounded by his teammates from at least three sides. And then she took over holding his hand. He’s practically never been alone since he got to the training camp in Knoxville. Somewhere along the way he almost got used to it.

Jon sits with Mike Bottom, UM’s head coach ever since Bob returned to NBAC. They seem to be in deep conversation. “Well, I’m looking quite forward to it,” Michael overhears Bottom say as he approaches. “And Tyler certainly seems enthusiastic about joining us, so… The others would definitely profit from him being there as well.”

Jon’s face lights up upon spotting Michael. He waves him over and, when Michael takes a seat next to him, pats his arm like he would a favorite grandson at a family gathering. “Have you heard already? I’ll be an assistant to UM’s head coach starting September.”

“Not an _assistant_ ,” Bottom clarifies a bit embarrassed. “A consultant. Since you’ll be splitting your time between Cali and Ann Arbor anyway…”

Jon winks at Michael. “Which means, I’m not making any money out of it,” he adds, causing Bottom to shake his head. 

“Who’s making money out of coaching assistantships anyway,” Michael asks with a smile.

“True, sadly. I said as much to Mike already.” Pause. Michael’s exchanging glances with Bottom. “Not you, Mike,” Jon adds. “Or you. The other Mike – Mike Cavic.”

Right, Cavic got himself a job with Club Wolverine teaching eight-year-olds the butterfly or whatever. Michael grins. His whole sworn fan club is to be assembled in Ann Arbor come fall.

Jon shakes his head in mock desperation. “Way too many Mikes in this sport with a blue-and-maize past if you ask me.”

Promptly Teri McKeever appears next to them and puts a hand on Bottom’s shoulder: “Oh, Mike, just the man I was looking for.”

Michael grins and turns to Jon while Teri sets to drag Bottom away. “Congrats, by the way. You must be totally proud.”

“Thank God Clary’s better at the last turn than at giving interviews,” Bottom says sententiously while getting up from his chair.   

Jon rolls his eyes, but Michael just shrugs. “You’ll get to hear that for a while longer I’m afraid.”

Teri turns to Michael. “Bob denied everything of course when I asked him if he paid Tyler for those comments. Extra motivation and all that – you know anything I don’t?”

Michael doesn’t. He’s asked Bob the same thing, though. “I’d be the last to know, don’t you think?”

“Also, he certainly would have picked someone whose opinion Michael gives a damn about,” Jon prompts, “like Thorpe’s four years ago.”

Michael gives a distant smile as Teri and Bottom bid their goodbyes. His gaze wanders through the room and comes to rest on his girlfriend several feet away near the opposite wall. Megan’s on her own now, he notices. Her posture is upright, her fine-boned profile very light against the dim of the room.    

Michael is just wondering what she’s looking at so intensely when Ryan moves into his field of vision.    

“So,” Jon says, forcing Michael’s attention back. “Did he congratulate you before he left?”

“Tyler? Are you shitting me?”

Jon chuckles. Michael glances back to where his girlfriend and best friend are currently in what can only be described as deep conversation. They are completely focused on each other. Megan’s running her hand up the other arm, as if she’s cold.

“Did you congratulate _him_?”

What the heck are they talking about that makes them look at each other like this? There’s tension there, but this is definitely not flirting, it’s something else.

“Hell no,” Michael answers Jon’s question, his eyes still directed at the two figures across the room. Megan turns her gaze away from Ryan for a second, then redirects it at him and says something. Something that leaves him – as Michael who knows Ryan inside out can tell even from this distance – thunderstruck.

She shakes her head. There is something almost sad about her demeanor.

“You were so busy making up with people you haven’t talked to for years. I was kind of hoping that might include Tyler. I guess I can bury that idea.”

Michael averts his gaze from the weird scene across the room for a moment. “I guess you can. Does it matter now?”

Ryan’s taking a step towards her, reaching for her arm. Megan swiftly steps out of his reach.

Michael narrows his eyes, but right then someone is passing through, blocking the two of them from his view. Michael has to crane his neck in spite of his six feet four to get to see what’s further going on, but when his field of vision clears he can spot neither Ryan nor Megan.  

“To Tyler, it might.”

The overwhelming weirdness of the scene he just observed makes it difficult to concentrate on a thing Jon is saying. Plus, Clary’s antics are not exactly his favorite topic. “No offense to you, but your star pupil is kind of weird. I’ll never understand what his deal with me is.” His gaze briefly darts across the room, but he cannot spot either of them.  

“Easy. He’s smitten with you.”

Michael freezes. He stares back at Jon.

“And he’s been trying to get your attention.” Jon doesn’t seem to notice his shock. “It’s not that easy to get your attention, I can speak from experience.”

Michael briefly ponders whether this is some kind of retirement joke. But it’s highly unlikely that Nathan, Megan and Urbanchek would join forces and gang up on him like this. Megan doesn’t even know Urbanchek and met Nathan only yesterday.

That actually supports the conclusion that Jon believes what he’s saying. And as Tyler’s coach and a kind of grandfather figure, he might have insights the others don’t. But that makes Jon talking about Tyler’s supposed emotional life – to _Michael_ no less – even more absurd.

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to tell me about this? I mean if he, like, confided in you or something…”

Jon laughs. “Now that would have been an interesting conversation! No, seriously, he doesn’t think of it like this himself. I’m just observing and I’m telling you because I’d like you to better understand what goes on inside his head.”

Michael wonders what good _that_ will do to either of them. “Why? What makes you think that anyway?”

“I’ve known the two of you for years, Michael. Call it a man-crush.”

This whole evening is starting to feel kind of surreal. “Tyler doesn’t have a _man_ -crush on me or anybody else,” Michael tries to convince Jon to see the error of his ways. “He likes women. I mean, he has a girlfriend.”

“I’m not saying he wants to have sex with you," Jon explains calmly and laughs when Michael splutters. "Or a relationship. In fact, I think it’s nothing of that sort.”

“Then what’s the point of having a crush?” Michael murmurs.    

“Were you never fascinated by someone of your own gender, Michael?”   

Michael can’t suppress a smile at those words. Poor Ian, having to battle burnout, beginning alcoholism and teenage Michael’s over-enthusiastic competitive spirit simultaneously. “Point,” he shrugs, “but don’t you need to like somebody at least a little bit to have a crush on them?”

“Sometimes that’s two sides of the same coin, fascination and infuriation.”

“You used that on him,” Michael suddenly understands. “For training.”  

“He used it himself. You’re featuring quite prominently right there in his mind and that's part of what propels him – make no mistake.”

Michael doesn’t. He remembers Tyler’s own words in all their smoldering grimness very clearly. _The day that happens when I finally beat him – it’s gonna be a huge deal on my mind… the only thing that would be better than that would be breaking a world record._

Still. Maybe being coached by a manipulative character like Bob Bowman has sort of ruined his innocence, but Michael doesn’t believe a word of what Jon tells him. “I keep forgetting what cunning bastards you coaches are.”

Jon seems unfazed. “The more I appreciate it that you haven’t yet dismissed the idea of joining our ranks, Michael.”

Michael stays quiet for a moment. Of course, they were somehow heading towards that. He still ponders whether he was drunk when they came up with that idea almost a year ago. “I said I was going to think on it, but I can’t make any promises right now.”

Jon holds up a hand. “Please. Take all the time you need. I can understand that you have other priorities at the moment.” A smile steals over his face when he notices Megan who has appeared next to Michael, sliding her hand into his.

She, too, is all smiles, relaxed and amicable. The serious, stressed-out expression she wore earlier when speaking to Ryan is gone from her face. Expectedly, the conversation turns to completely other things after that and almost completely slips Michael’s mind in the weeks filled with that follow. 

Still, when his computer requires a password update about two months later, he makes that _AnnArbor2013._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon: Part III, "Indigo".


End file.
